


Matthew, The Worst Demon Ever

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Austria is a sparkly diva, Blood and Gore, Canada is a love muffin, Character Death, Hell is really rapey, Hell is violent af, M/M, Murder, france is an ass kisser in every universe, hell is a bad vacation place, i don't run that way, it's fluffy later, no main characters will be raped., yall cant stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: The Prince of Lies wants to invade the mortal realm. His attempts at an unholy army leave something to be desired.





	1. Born From Ashes

The prince of lies, the snake of Eden, sat upon his throne. His royal court, appearing to be an abandoned factory from New Jersey, was littered on all dimensions with blood body parts. He sat dissatisfied among the filth and gore, in false human form.

Green eyes of the great serpent of sin were framed by thick eyeliner. This deceptively frail form was every bit a 1980's English street punk, commonly called Arthur. The elder demon glared at his thousands of failed creations before him.

“Disgusting, all of it.” He muttered evilly.

The sulphurous air rippled and tear with an existential cry. An eldritch monster of pure lust, of limbs and genitals and hand, forced its way in. In the court of lies, it was wrapped in a false skin. The lord of Lust, the nameless seducer, became a black winged human in the nude. Eyes and claws of dripping black adorned a toned body, it's notable cock free to sway and hang about.

“Ooh, prince of lies. I could hear your anguish from the seventh layer of hell. It was so...” The repulsive yet attractive creature moaned, touching himself. “... so perfect. I had to come and harvest it.”

“Fuck off you hideous piece of shit. I'm busy making an army.” The veteran devil sneered from his rusty iron throne, reptilian green eyes glowing with danger.

“Oh I love when you talk like that.” Lust purred, sitting on his colleague's lap. He was picked up immediately and thrown so hard he disintegrated into dark matter. The slithering cosmic whore reassembled himself, pouting in red satin clothes. Seating himself beside the rusty throne, the lord of lust tutted his capable tongue. “That wasn't very nice Arthur.”

“Francis, I'm _busy_.” Arthur hissed.

None of the elder demons could truly really kill each other. Arthur couldn't recall the number of times he and Lust tangled, only to burn each other alive in unholy climax. What was unique about this interaction was the use of 'Francis'. The lord of lust had not been human enough for 'Francis' since the fall of the Roman empire.

“You must not be so angry! There has to be a useful corrupter of soul in this mess somewhere.” the disgustingly sensual demon assured. He trawled the bloody mess of bodies, many still writhing in slow death. Claws of tigers, wings of birds, skins of bad children... it was a buffet of failure Francis occasionally paused to rape and pleasure his needs upon. After an hour of such activities, a single speck of dirty grey appeared. It was a fledgling demon, barely alive. 

Arthur didn't have that soft touch, that final burning smog of life. His creations were usually born of nightmares and suicide. Shaking his head, Francis scooped up the marble sized creature. “Look at you, so little. You're barely a temptation, a bad dream.”

The grey thing lay one of his many palms, quite the cuddler. Not really a useful trait, but at least it was interacting with him.

Teleporting with writhing tentacles of pure violation, the lust demon arrived at Arthur's feet in submission. The Prince of lies snorted in derision, a most favourable greeting. “Don't you have cursed souls to defile?”

“In all your terrible ugly failure, I found a possible project.”

This seemed to capture the evil being's attention span. “That... that is a bug in creation. It's so small!”

Arthur wasn't wrong. Francis broiled in his own sulphurous thoughts, glancing at the delicate thing in his sliding grip. He simply hated to waste things, a trait carried over from a long gone human life. “It's mine then.”

“Fuck off.” Arthur seethed, his green gaze already bubbling skin painfully. It was about as friendly as the scaly bitch was for goodbyes.

The lord of lust left as he entered, in most disturbing fashion. His own plane was empty and cold. It was a place of barren freezing loneliness. Most would lose their minds here. It was actually a healthy balance from Francis's work place environment. He was trying to really take care of himself these days, get less skin torn off while on duty.

“Look at you, so small and worthless.” He dropped the thing in deep snow, made of billions of tears. It didn't die. The grey marble of a soul thrived, moved, rolled in the darkened depths. How curious. “Maybe I can use you after all...” the violating beast above hummed in approval.

The Lord of Lust knew just the trick to sick this pet on. It was the most perfect mark to corrupt and consume. The victim was an underpaid civil servant named Laurence.


	2. Fools and Fax Machines

Laurence, better known as Lars, worked in Hell. It certainly seemed like hell. He filed expired government program applications for the entire country. The job was exactly as mind numbing as one could imagine. People in white office shirts, all trapped in oceans of paper. The infinite droves of filing never ended, always rolling on...

All of this would be tolerable, if the air conditioner was still working. As it was, Lars was at a local park for lunch, sucking on an orange Popsicle. It was his only relief from crushing summer heat since 10 am. Fear shocked him to the core as he witnessed the most unnatural thing in human history.

Black lightning struck the ground twenty feet away, making no sound as it absorbed light. The scorched patch of earth split like a rotting melon. From the dark fissure, a grey monstrosity emerged. It was dirty owl feathers and white talons, innumerable limbs dragging it out of unknown evil bowels. A face of a dozen glowing eyes locked on him, a cosmic shade of purple. The alien mass of long skinny limbs flapped and screeched at him in deep Gregorian style curses. The voice was that of a chain smoking jazz singer from another plane, smooth yet dissonant.

Lars was snapped out of his demonic vision by a tap on the shoulder. A creature so appealingly opposite to that waking nightmare was before him. It was a wavy blonde, awash with freckles. The man, whoever he was, looked delicious like a snack. Pushing up red framed glasses shyly, the stranger waved in greeting.

“Excuse me.”

Feeling crazy, Lars looked behind the man. The ground was not torn apart from defiled birth. It was just this lost looking employee playing the part of adorable jail bait. Whoever he was, he had the role mastered.

The stranger repeated himself, no longer at a gentle whisper. “Excuse me, but I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, um. Hi?” Lars sputtered, no longer frozen in terror. “What is it?”

“I'm supposed to be here, my name is Matthew.” The man's voice was like honey. How could Lars go from hallucinating a fracture in reality to ogling an incredibly handsome stranger? What he saw before was just... his imagination on caffeine overload. Yeah. That seemed right.

“And this concerns me how?” Lars replied skeptically. He looked the guy over once more with an objective eye. They appeared to share the same office worker uniform and briefcase. A business card from the government was clearly tucked in a front pocket.

This 'Matthew' took notice of the card, very out of the loop. He read it with interest, then smiled. “I'm an intern for your department, it seems.”

That smile could melt a gay man's heart into a puddle. As a hidden bisexual in oppressive corporate culture, Lars was doomed. The taller employee stood and offered a hand. “I'm Lars. I'll see if I can get this sorted out. You know how it is, corporate hell and all.”

The handshake was tingling and warm, but short lived. “I do know hell. It's terrible. Thank you so much!” The moment hands parted, the lock on Lars's briefcase failed. It sprung open, papers fluttering everywhere.

“NO! God no! FUCK!” Lars yelled, chasing them in vain. Matthew chased a few papers down, but a dozen crows had shit on and shredded the rest by a garbage can. Lars clutched the ruined shreds of files in his hands, remembering he had dropped his cherished ice treat just before. He looked back and groaned. It was an orange puddle beside the hot park bench now.

“I feel bad about all this. I'm sorry.” the intern gushed sincerely, looking downright illegal in his angelic graces.

“You didn't do anything, you're fine. I mean, you're good. Like good look – Fine! Just fine! Let's um, go back. I only have ten minutes left.” Lars stumbled like a love struck drunk, barely recovering. He blushed something powerful as he jammed ruined paper back in his case.

Walking back, they barely got in on time. A six car pile up clogged the main road in front. There was still people arriving on the scene as survivors ranted and screamed about seeing shadow people. It was humbling to witness, some still trapped in cars as professionals rescued them.

Matthew frowned at all of it, guided along into the stone government building. “You can feel it, their madness.” he whispered.

Lars didn't know what to think of the bizarre statement, so ignored it. After all the fuss of clocking back in and returning to his desk, Lars set to work. Nothing said soul crushing despair like sorting expired applications for property zoning. Stuck in the basement of this particular building, the ancient lights flickered from time to time.

An hour into the abysmal nothingness that was Lars's life, the floor manager came by. He was a toad of a man, crushed short by a nagging wife and cheap cigarettes. “Mr. Van Den Berg. Busy as always.” The aging boss grumbled in vague greeting.

Lars said nothing, not looking up into glassy corporate eyes. He knew better than that.

“Until we can figure out where this intern is supposed to be, I'm dumping him off here. Don't fuck it up.”

Lars gave a curt silent nod, looking at the floor submissively.

“Good boy. Knew I could depend on you.” The loathsome influence was gone as quickly as he arrived, floors creaking from weight. In the wake of this encounter, a happy Matthew stood with a smile.

“Oh. Hi.” Lars greeted, struggling valiantly not to blush.

“I was looking for you! I'm supposed to help you until...” Matthew paused, looking up a moment in thought. “Well... until you don't need help anymore, I suppose. That won't be imposing will it?”

Lars was not aware he registered in the vast web of government intelligence. Perhaps they were starting to notice he existed beneath their heaving bureaucratic bulk? That was an exciting possibility. Maybe he could get a raise too, and a real office.

“Not at all. I'd love the help. How much training do you have?” Lars spoke with a happy smile, unable to stop his stupid face.

“Love?” Matthew muttered, openly puzzled. He pushed up his cute red glasses, dropping the subject. “I um, don't have a lot of training. But I'm good a communications.”

That was one shitty job down, if the new intern was any good at taking messages. Lars was eager to see the man at work, getting out of his still warm office chair. “Alright then. This is where the phone is. Obviously I'll get you your own chair and we'll figure out the space issue... but here is where you take messages from upstairs. Usually the –” 

As Matthew plunked into the chair and grabbed the phone, unholy noise erupted from it. It was a cursed blend of women screaming in terror, metal scraping, and guttural chants of 'kill yourself'. Matthew dropped the device in innocent surprise. “Oh my, that was unexpected.” he gasped softly.

The phone, still screaming obscenities, was hung up gingerly by Lars. It took a minute to recover from the unearthly insults that just raped his ears. “Lets put you on paper duty.” He stammered, swallowing thickly.

The rest of the day was uneventful, almost fun. Matthew liked to chat in small bursts, all while remaining productive. They ended up talking about a range of topics, including sports and family. Matthew was apparently a real 'demon' at winter sports, and came from humble, if vague beginnings.

It was now the end of the shift, both men packing up for the day.

“So... what are your parents like? You seem really grounded.” Matthew asked sweetly, assisting Lars when his briefcase fell open for a third time. They had not successfully found enough tape to attempt repairs.

“Oh... they're dead.” Lars replied distantly. He could still remember walking in and finding the bodies, victims of a robbery gone bad. It was stamped in his brain like a cattle brand.

“I'm sorry, I didn't... Let me help you with that.” Matthew sputtered, all thumbs today.

Lars shook his head, leaving the suitcase on the floor to die. It wasn't working anyway. “It's fine, really. They died years ago. What are your folks like?”

Matthew looked away awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “It's kinda messy. My mother is an intersex prostitute, but I don't know my dad.”

“An intersex prostitute.” Lars echoed, shocked. “What is... How...”

“Don't overthink it, eh? I'm adopted, but Mother did a good job. I wouldn't be here without him.” At this the adorable man before Lars beamed. It was joyous thing to witness. Despite Matthew's freaky purple eyes, and bizarre life, he was truly a delight to work with.

“Well, I hope you stick around for a while. We got a lot done today.” Lars moved on in topic, having no constructive things to say about intersex prostitutes.

“Me too. You're fun.” the other chimed in. They walked into the elevator, both far too lazy to use the stairs. “After all, what else could possibly go wrong?”

The elevator stopped mid floors, all the buttons flashing violently. The lights then burst in their various cases, making a hissing pop of hot glass and plastic. Dodging the exploding light in the centre of the elevator, Lars was pressed against the wall. He heaved a few breaths in panic as they stood in pure darkness, the summer heat crushing.

“I guess I spoke too soon?” Matthew offered in this cramped void. Thus began Lars's work life with the most sweetly attractive, yet unluckiest being in the entire building.


	3. Painting Skulls

If Matthew was being honest with himself, he didn't know much of anything. Prior to being born into this mortal realm, there was only impressions. Being held in slick strong hands, freed from drowning eternally in blood. The first touches of cooling snow. Rumbles of approval from a powerful force above, speaking to little baby... him!

Matthew hadn't even been given a name until he read his own name tag. He seemed to be formed in the clothing of another, his avian form reduced to a rather sparse amount of eyes. How anyone could see the entire cosmos with less than seven was impossible.

Along with a dead human's name, he inherited a dead human's apartment. The body was still hanging from the ceiling when he moved in. The corpse had been a welcome treat after being born so roughly. Work was easy to him, all papers and complimentary negativity. It was now two months into his born purpose, and he was starting to get quite comfortable. The only thing he was certain of was accompanying Lars until his death. It was an instinct ironed into his nerves and flesh.

Matthew came home from another long day of work, closing the door. “Hello Cat.” He greeted cheerfully. The adopted street cat hissed and threatened to scratch him violently. He picked it up for kisses, getting slashed in a bloody swipe.

The thin false skin peeled a little, shifting eyes and demon limbs compacted beneath. Six new exposed eyes peered at the cat pleasantly, cosmic purple light of lifeless nebula bleeding through. The cat immediately died from gazing into the maw of death, his body falling over limply.

“Oh silly cat, you must stop dying.” the moderately powerful demon rumbled, it's true form still revealed. Holding on his false face, Matthew waited until it begin piecing together. The shreds of skin pulled together and interlocked on thousands of tiny legs. Feeling everything to be where it should, Matthew tended to the cat. The soul was already beginning to leave, that wouldn't do!

Having practised on dying homeless people for a few days, Matthew was getting quite good at a few tricks. One was shocking them back to life from terror. All he had to do was flash a glimpse of his inhuman nature to the spectral imprints. It was often enough to make a soul come running back to it's corporal form.

The cat sprang back to life, yowling and bolting to another room. It had only been dead a minute, so Matthew doubted it would be a zombie. He then turned to the rest of his friends. It was the skulls of the three people he had eaten since moving here. They were lined up neatly on a handcrafted shelf. The original Matthew's skull sat beside a mugger from last week. The last skull was from a drowned homeless man. That skull was extra special, earning the name Douglas.

“Other Mattie, Jeffrey, Douglas... I have good news! Lars wants to come visit for dinner in two days! Isn't that nice?”

The skulls said nothing. Their damned souls were long since released properly, thrown to the gates of Heaven like baseballs. They wouldn't stop sinking into the earth otherwise. The bones of all three human skeletons were more or less respected, licked clean with no marrow inside to rot. Original Matthew even had his skull bleached to match the others.

“So I was researching how humans live. It turns out, eating people is bad. So, I'm sorry I ate you lot. I didn't mean to be so rude. Next time I'll have a cheese burger.” Matthew patted each skull with care. “I also found out humans don't sleep on beds of human leather and skeletal remains. So... I'm trying to be a better person in the eyes of the law. I don't _understand_ this whole no carcasses thing, but it must have some basis in reality.”

It was true. The living room was rather barren aside from his macabre nest. Prior to committing suicide, the other Matthew had sold most of his possessions and cleaned the place up. It was very polite!

Finally, the demon spawn summarized his happy thoughts. “So, Douglas, If I'm going to keep you around, I need to make you into something. All you boys are going to be scented candle holders. I read that humans find scents pleasant. Oh, and I have a heart beat now, look!”

Matthew took off his shirt in a hurry, opening his rib cage like a cabinet door. His feathery and clawed demon guts stayed unnaturally where they should, only dripping some black blood. A large dog heart was embedded in the mess, beating along on demon blood. He closed his chest and pulled the skin back together encouragingly. It healed shut in minutes.

“I tried to find lungs too, but killing seems to be bad, so... no lungs. Hey I have a heart right? That's all that matters.” Pleased with himself, he buttoned on his shirt. Next, he took out a can of gold spray paint, giving it a shake.

“Now... Who wants to a be a fancy golden candle holder first?”


	4. Parents From Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More warnings than ever. Squeamish people beware.

The Prince of Lies was not the Devil, but some days he felt like it. Arthur was a trusted officer, a recent addition. Once a fallen angel from the late 1970's, he fall hard into the ranks. Being the snake of Eden was a inherited role these days, since the angel Gabriel had decapitated the last three.

Love was why Arthur fell. Love was a curse of the mortal realms, one that could rip apart the highest divinity. Angels knew of devotion to be sure. Loving your job was one thing they were born to embrace. Earthly love was something else. It took you by the heart, possessed you, cracked you apart. In the middle of resolving a conflict between Sloth and Greed spawn, Arthur's long dragon tail was pulled. He roared in deity quivering rage, whipping around and breathing green chemical flames.

“What _worm_ dares touch my scaly hide?” the demonic creature threatened.

The worm in question was actually many thousands of worms. They took a moment to push out of still burning blackened skin, forming a functional mouth on the floor. “Your hideousness, the demon Matthew seems to be making progress in the above world.”

“Who the flaming fuck is Matthew?” the dragon hissed, his one head splitting into many. All green eyes scrutinized the lower life form.

“The demon you crafted to kill humanity, your terribleness. No, please no! Not again, I was sent by –” Arthur burned the vermin alive again, knowing exactly who was stupid enough to touch his stuff. All the dragon heads and claws tore a hole in Sloth's filthy reality.

“Well... That... Was... Rude...” The walls of rotten human skin mumbled lethargically, setting on fire as the Prince of Lies forced his massive true form into the gap.

Emerging in Lust's lair of debauchery, The fuming dragon burnt all floor tentacles that attempted to rape him mindlessly. “LORD OF LUST, WHAT HAVE YOU WROUGHT UPON THE MORTAL PLANE!” He thundered. Technically above Lust in authority, the demand had to be answered.

The lord of lust could not be lazier. He munched on dead babies and watched other planes for entertainment. All the while a demonic bull creature was furiously fucking him from behind on the lush satin bed. Francis seemed not to be impressed with the performance, if his bored glassy hundred gazes or so were indicators.

“Could you _try_ not to burn that carpet?” The filthy thing complained, apparently used to holding conversation with such distractions.

“I demand to know... Can, can you just stop? I'm trying to chat here.” Arthur stopped mid roar, glaring at the _thing_ now moaning in repulsive orgasm. It was quite distracting.

“Hold on, I got this.” The Lord of Lust squinted in concentration, his flexible tentacled body writhing as it flexed. The bull demon was crushed to death dicks first, ripped into bloody chunks by retractable vaginal teeth. “Ah, I can hear you better now.”

The sight was one that never failed to endear Arthur, a loveless creature of pure hate and lies. “Right... you took some demon spawn of mine and it's supposedly running around. What's going with that.”

“Oh little Matthew! He's so disappointing and weak.” Francis cooed in the closest maternal expression demons could manage, easily distracted.

“I thought it was dying, it's been ages.” Time was faster in hell, and slower in heaven. It made keeping on schedule for the Apocalypse incredibly difficult. Everyone kept being very late or very early, often in the wrong places. Many thousands of false starts had come and gone.

“Not so, it's only been two months for the earth. See?” Lust panned the misty illusion to the other. It was true. In the murky vision, the weak avian demon was wearing a false human skin and... drinking wine with some human.

“Well... It bought Ikea furniture. That's at least one thing right.” Arthur grumbled. Everyone knew the entrance exam for working in Hell was assembling impossible flat pack furniture in inhuman time.

“Not only that, It's already caused three suicides. The souls should have been here ages ago but... they probably got lost on the way here. We're expecting forty more suicides by the end of the month.” Lust was so proud of it's bastard spawn, known to have a child hoarding problem. Francis having copyrighted the pregnancy kink didn't help things.

A rare shrug and grunt of agreement was given by the second angriest officer of all Hell. Indifference was the most benevolent the flaming chemical monster could be. “I guess it's doing a shitty job... like it should. I'll get some lesser bags of puke and bile to check the mantle of the earth. Maybe the souls got caught on some buried garbage or igneous rock again.”

“Ooh I hate when you're so evil! Fuck me until I burn to death, my master. I want to to be your unrepentant whore!” The Lord of Lust crooned, slithering onto the raping floor in delicious submission.

The great dragon of Satan grinned, a display of sharp teeth and dripping toxic chemicals. “Gladly.”


	5. Strange Dates

Lars hummed as he sauteed veggies in a pan. Working alongside Matthew had been a dream. It was a very bizarre but happy dream. Sure, Lars had fallen down the stairs, been stabbed by a stapler, cut by paper, tripped on nothing... many painful accidents. They were just accidents!

It was pure coincidence! All that mattered was Matthew was an absolute darling. The second date had been perfect... aside from the restaurant bursting into flames. Lars was given a sweet kiss in the lips, so chaste and soft. A lustful Lars was certain to get some action. He had prepared steak and potatoes, which seemed to be Matthew's favourite. The wheaten blonde was a meat lover, verging on the extreme. Lars had never once seen the man eat a vegetable, which was alarming. After two and a half months of sharing lunch breaks, a baby carrot would or _something_ would have popped up.

Lars had to stop prodding the vegetables as they fried in steak drippings. Maybe if Matthew tasted broccoli hidden in fat and salt, he might convert before he had a heart attack. What distracted the tall blonde was a massive feather. It was grey, dappled with black. It was once longer than a peacock feather, obviously broken.

The problem was, Lars didn't own a bird. He was very hygienic and clean, with a sparse apartment. Matthew said he didn't own birds, and the claim was assumed to be truth. The mystery of the giant feathers still persisted. Bits of feather fluff clogged his office chair wheels only days ago.

Today's massive feather had been discovered by the couch, peeking out from under. The last place Matthew sat when he visited. Oh... Lars understood. He had gone to college. This was a big old prank on Lars. Well, two could play that game. He was sure he had superglue around somewhere.

Matthew was at the door, right on time. Lars kicked the feather back under the couch, skipping over to answer. Opening the door, a less than healthy man was revealed. It was Matthew alright, but he was pale sweaty shadow of himself. His freaky purple eyes glowed with hunger. It was... It _had_ to be Lars's imagination messing with him. Eyes didn't glow.

“You look like absolute shit man.” 

Matthew seemed strangely pleased by this blunt observation. “Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be just lovely. I'm starving! Is that bovine blood?” The man replied, magnetizing to the stove top. Before he could be stopped, Matthew ate both steaks raw like an animal. Tearing and swallowing chunks whole, five pounds of steak was gone in ten seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Lars yelled, frozen to the spot in disgust.

“I feel gross, I need your bathroom.” Matthew moaned, face still dripping with blood.

“GEE, MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE YOU ATE RAW MEAT!” Lars thundered, pissed off at his guest's manners.

“I'm really sorry, there's lot to explain but... oh... I need. I need to go.” The other whimpered, clutching his gut. Matthew then dashed to the bathroom. The lock clicked seconds later.

Locking the front door, Lars stomped after his inconsiderate workmate. “Let me in there!” He ordered, banging on the door.

“You really don't want to see this.” Matthew whimpered behind the border, in obvious pain.

“Are... Are you injured? What are you doing in there?” Anger easily switched to fear for Lars.

“I really wanted to be here, and I like... like being with you at work. But I'm... I can't...” Matthew's voice was cracking and spreading inhumanly. The bathroom then filled with a scream of pain, like a thousand birds being ripped apart. The screaming died pathetically after a few seconds, a weak groan following.

Having back away in terror, Lars inched closer in shuffling steps. “Matthew? Mattie? What's happening in there buddy?”

There was nothing, then a wet sound. Finally a very human voice replied. “Please... don't come in. You'll be terribly disappointed in me.”

“Okay, you're pretty weird, and that... that steak thing. We need to deal with that sometime tonight. But I need to see that you're not dying on the floor.” These seemed to be the magic words. A minute later, there was a wet dragging noise and a click of the lock.

The door opened a narrow crack, Matthew's face looking out. He was impossibly crying, fat black tears leaving ashy trails on his cheeks. “I'm really really sorry about destroying your bathroom. I've been trying to hold in all myself for weeks but I... I'm sorry.”

“Listen. You're obviously going through something and I'm sure whatever it is, I can deal.” Lars seemed to have reached the other. Matthew finally looked at him with one more caring gaze, then opened the door fully.

Lars could not deal with what he saw. The toilet seat was still up, not this this mattered. Tar like blood was all over the thing. The unnatural oozing gore was still dripping off Matthew as he stood. The man was barely holding himself up, using the door as a support. His black wet slacks were ripped from the groin to an entire side. Blood was still dripping off the ragged fabric fringes like mad.

“What the hell is... is _this_?” Lars stammered, green eyes wide in shock.

“I couldn't hold it in.” Matthew offered apologetically, sinking to the cold tile floor.

“What are you talking about?” Lars whispered, unsure what to feel right now.

“In the toilet. I can clean this all up... I'm tired is all.”

Holding back the urge to vomit valiantly, Lars laid out a trail of towels over the drying blood. Now before the toilet, he saw the final nightmarish surprise. It was a large black egg, absorbing almost all light. It looked large enough to be from an ostrich.

“This isn't real. This isn't real. I've gone crazy.” The man muttered, rubbing his temples. He retreated from the bathroom, pacing madly in the living room. “This is fake, I'm dreaming, and I'm going to wake up right NOW.” He pinched himself hard. It hurt badly.

He pinched himself again. It still stung. Lars was awake. He was awake and the cutest muffin of a man to every exist had just laid a goddamn alien egg in his toilet. “Okay, okay. So, so, I'm awake. I'm here in reality and...” He gasped for breath, still freaking out.

A soft plea came from the bathroom. “Lars... please, could you help me into the tub? I can get the rest clean, but I'm so tired.”

This was not the way Lars wanted to see Matthew's naked body. He didn't want to see it lowered into a tub, splattered in black blood. He didn't understand how parts of Matthew, currently his leg, could be so misshapen and taut on the skin.

“You're not even human.” The words slipped out of Lars like a curse.

“I never claimed to be.” The answer was honest as always. Honest Matthew, sweet Matthew.

“What _are_ you.” Lars whispered, daring to kneel tub side and extend a hand. A clean hand took his, giving it a squeeze.

“You won't understand what you see.” Matthew whispered, pressing a kiss to Lars's hand.

“I can try. You have to let me try.”

At this, there was a chuckle. “Okay. But I'll clean all this up first. It would be rude if I didn't.” Ah, and there was that sugary cute Matthew Lars was falling for so hard.

Matthew took thirty minutes, but it felt like forever. Lars ended up watching a gardening show to pass the time. Finally, Matthew walked out of the bathroom, his body once more clad in office clothes. This was bizarre, since he never brought extra clothes.

“So, The bathroom is clean. The egg is still in the toilet, but... I'll deal with it in a minute. You have to promise me you won't scream.” Matthew asked, quite serious. When Lars nodded, the process begin. Matthew as human eyes knew it began to unpack neatly. The rib cage popped apart like cabinet doors. The arms slipped off, flexible tubes of fabric and skin.

At first, Lars was more than ready to scream and run. A horror of claws and feathers had been violently crunched to fit the shape of people. Unfurling slowly, all three pairs of wings unfolded and stretched. The lanky body was held up by double bend legs, ending in brutally sharp talons. Two set of arms long and slender neatly folded the human skin suit into a square stack, somehow not tearing it with wickedly curved claws.

The thing turned to Lars, back lit by the kitchen light. All six wings dark in shadow, edged by burning white. A dozen eyes reflecting space looked at him, scattered along the face and wings. There was not much else to go off, top to actual tail coated in grey feathers. It wasn't even true grey, but white that had been poorly washed after being dropped in tar.

A true christian since he was a child, Lars fell to his knees in awe. “Do you know what you are?” He whispered in worship.

“No. I was sent to accompany you until you die. That's all I know.” Matthew admitted openly, his voice slightly cosmic in his true form.

“You... you're an angel sent to protect me. An real angel from heaven! I never thought... My faith wavered so many times, but here... Here you are! A real life angel!” Lars giggled and rose off his knees, He and hugged a bewildered Matthew. Lars only guessed at the expression since Matthew lacked a traditional face.

“I don't understand. What is an-gel.” Matthew asked. His voice could be felt from his entire body like a vibration.

“A miracle from God! Healing the sick, bringing back the dead, protecting the innocent.”

Matthew cocked his feathery head, several purple eyes blinking. So it was that Lars began to teach Matthew of the glories of God. The unearthly being curled around him like a cuddly serpent. Matthew's 'heavenly' metallic purrs of contenment would be heard most of the evening.


	6. Celestial Guess Who

Alfred was a brave underage soldier when he died. He fully believed America was the most wonderful country to exist. He was honoured to fight and die for his home. The only problem was, he was stubborn beyond belief.

It took two angels chasing him down in the Vietnamese jungles to realize he was dead at all. He couldn't believe he had been killing cursed Asian demons instead of human soldiers. He must have shot a dozen of them with his rifle. The fact that the thing never jammed or ran out of bullets was probably an indicator of the unnatural.

Instead of forcing him into rebirth, the beautiful angels offered him a job. Demon hunter, soul saviour, protector of children's hopes. It was everything the mature looking sixteen year old had ever wanted, but never had. He took the job with both hands. He was becoming a notable celestial presence these days, serving his former race with devotion.

Thus, Alfred found himself in a boring all American city not far from Chicago. The hero angel could feel corruption as a cold chill, just as demons burned from love. Somewhere in this chaotic place, there was a filthy demon. The perks of choosing to be an angel was control over your appearance.

With brilliant American flag wings brushed in gold, the force of good perched on top of a radio tower. His flowing clothes were equally patriotic. “Where are you shadowy scum?” He spoke to himself mostly. He enjoyed the goofy dialogue, pretending to be in a comic story from his youth.

A six winged beast, dim with negative energy, was sensed a mile away. Alfred flew after it with vigour. It met up with him in minutes. The likely demon could fly circles around him with ease, many eyes scattered on it's alien body. What was far more alarming was that it had a true physical body. Not even Alfred had one, moving things with will alone.

This... _thing_ was flying around him at plane altitudes now. Playful blight of the earth that it was, it's many eyes glowed in starry curiosity. “Hello. Who are you?” It asked simply.

“I am a mighty angel here to slay you!” Alfred proclaimed, summoning his flaming baseball bat of righteousness.

“That's not very nice.”

“It doesn't have to be. You're a demon thingy. I kill those!”

The feathery beast chuckled in very human manner. “Pardon me, but I believe you are mistaken. I am also an angel. I'm the angel Matthew. My boyfriend said so, and he knows all about these things.” The pride and certainty this monster spoke with with amusing. Demons didn't laugh or joke. They _definitely_ did not date others, or experience joy as mortals did.

“You can't have a boyfriend! You're a monster!”

The flying creature before him rolled away in flight, shy. “That's very mean of you! My boyfriend said I was pretty! I was going to ask if we could be friends, but now I don't want to!” Just like that, the thing shot away in flight. Alfred was left in the air, dumbfounded at what to say. He had never been faced with a demon this effectively deceptive before.

Chasing the apparently distraught thing down, he ended up at a camp site. The trees were tall here, at least sixty years old. They groaned and swayed in greeting. There was a lone man at a portable barbecue, not far from an orange tent. He was humming to a portable music player, oblivious to the demon. It was quivering behind the weaker mortal, peeking over the man's shoulder.

Weapon at hand, Alfred approached his prey. The human looked up coldly, a perfect example of resting bitch face. “What do you think you're doing?”

“How can you see me?” Alfred demanded. Only the most fervent of believers and nut jobs could see celestial beings.

“Because I can. What are you? Captain America's personal tailor?” The stranger scoffed.

Matthew pointed at Alfred with a long claw. “That's the jerk right there! He called me a monster!”

“You are a monster!” The angel accused, certain in his divine fury.

“Excuse me? This fluffy bundle of love is not a monster!” The insane human taunted right back. After an unholy display of kisses, the human set his spatula down and marched over to the cocky angel. “My boyfriend is an angel, and you are not welcome on this camp site! Now _please_ leave.”

Alfred had never been in a situation like this before. He was genuinely stumped. Able to sense happiness and joy in the living, the honey blonde warrior did not have cause to continue. There was a genuine benevolent bond between demon filth and confused human.

“I'm... I'm going to call my boss about this. Then I'll be back to kill you, you weird feather monster. I will be the hero!” Alfred vowed, shaking a fist before flying off.

“Prick!” The human cursed, his voice trailing off as Alfred gained altitude. This was truly an unusual day.


	7. Upper Management

Maybe Lars lived an unconventional life style. The idea never occurred to him until one lovely winter morning. He was with his rather unique boyfriend at the park, training the man on angel matters. One would think an angel sent to protect him was good at this stuff.

As it was, Matthew was very terrible at good things. Both copies of the bible had set on fire in his nimble talons. Those sharp claw had been sanded to blunt points, but Matthew still ended up poking a dozen holes in the shower curtain. Having moved in three month ago, the pair had been dating since the summer. It was six months of relationship bliss.

Lar's siblings loved Matthew, and no one could say a bad word about him. Even the local meth addicts and lunatics across the street thought he was the cutest. They also thought he was the 'child of the apocalypse'. They did illegal drugs, so their opinion was long forfeit.

There was snags to dating a fledgling angel in training. Matthew took up far too much of the bed, preferring to sleep in his true form. Those wickedly sharp claws had pierced everything by now. Lars gave up long ago, relying on putty, tape, and iron on patches.

The bathroom took the most punishment, Matthew's waste was known to melt weaker materials. Discussing the process of making celestial shit less acidic with chemicals was awkward. Those pesky black eggs popped up from time to time, and Lars never dared ask of their fate. He was content with little to no black blood after the first two.

With such strong mutual attraction, intimate acts were destined. In time, like all puzzles, solutions were found. In the bedroom, Matthew was a fantastic lay in either form. He was also very vocal. This wouldn't be a problem if the outbursts weren't in ancient Aramaic at top volume.

All of this was worth the trip. Lars had never been so happy. Everything would be even better if objects around Matthew stopped bursting into flames. Today was training attempt number... well, Lars wasn't sure any more. One of many sessions over four months, for sure.

“Okay, now can you sense the despair of the living?” Lars started off, dressed in a fluffy toque and scarf. Matthew had knitted the things himself with love, strings woven off his talons.

“Yep!” The angel replied sweetly. He wasn't looking so great these days. Parts of his false face kept peeling off throughout the day. They resorted to keeping it on with tape. It no longer bothered Lars. However, he used to startle at seven cosmic purple eyes under the crawling mask. The greatest mystery was why Lars was the only living creature to survive looking at his boyfriend's many eyes. He suspected it was because he didn't fear the angelic cinnamon roll.

One mystery at a time. Today was controlling this fire business. If matthew could send all his fire somewhere else, Lars's home would be spared! “Now, take in all that rage and despair. Concentrate! Make it a little ball! I know you can do it!” Lars cheered on. The process was fascinating to observe, a literal spark soon floating in Matthew's perched hands.

“I... I can't. If it gets too big, this will explode.” Matthew whimpered, tense in concentration.

“I know you can do it.” Lars assured, hugging him from behind. “Just... breathe. Relax, gather all the sorrow. All the pain.”

“My disguise...” It was true, Matthew's skin was not behaving today. It was already loosening.

“You do training, I'll sweat the small stuff.” Lars promised, one final kiss to the back of the neck.

“Okay, I trust you.” Matthew whispered. This last assurance undid the angel. The tiny spark flared so hot, Lars had to stumble backward for his own protection. Matthew's own skin seemed to agree, peeling itself off and inching away. Lars tried to dart closer and grab sections as they fell. All the while Matthew's true form emerged in hot white fire. The event was too bright to look at directly in seconds.

The flare of white chemical fire vanished as fast as it formed. Matthew's winged form sagged from effort, obviously exhausted. The grey dappled creature literally evaporated the ground he was standing on, now kneeling in a perfect bowl of scorching earth. Anything outside of the crater was melted mud and blackened grass for several metres.

“Did... did I do it?” Matthew whispered, voice breaking into frequencies that bit and jumped.

“Where did you send all the negativity?” Lars asked hoarsely, still blinking blind spots out of his eyes.

The angel shrugged, a rippling effort across three sets of wings and two sets of arms. “I panicked. I couldn't remember that other place you said.” Matthew admitted sheepishly.

“It's... it's okay. It's away from people, right?”

The feather being nodded, sitting tiredly in the still burning earth. “Did you get my disguise? I felt it getting away.”

Lars grimaced, glancing at the burning destruction around his partner. There was nothing alive in that blackened crater. Only an arm sleeve was left, still on fire as it inched away. “I think you cooked it.”

A few eyes opened wide in surprise. “What? It... It probably crawled away. It did that before in the grocery store and we were okay...”

“No it was... is gone. It's gone Mattie.” Lars repeated dryly, looking over at Matthew with concern. That mysterious white rash was worse than ever, only seeming to harm the feathered companion. Honestly, the unknown ailment was warmth and pleasantry to touch for Lars. All the same, It was making Matthew itch and moult feathers like mad. The vacuum at home was on the verge of killing itself.

Already beginning to scratch and rake at himself, Matthew's body was mottled with bright white spots. It was bleaching the remaining grey out of the feathers. Some sparing bits of fluff would darken instead, falling out. This entire training regiment was an experiment to stop the process. It was failing fantastically.

“How are we supposed to get home? We took the bus here, and I'm so itchy I can't even –” Matthew paused. The birds squawking away on the power lines above froze. Lars looked around in bewilderment, then looked down. The snow itself was still in the air. He no longer left prints in soggy snow.

Lars muttered “What the hell is going on.”

“Over here crazy pants.” A stranger's voice spoke, pulling Lars's attention. He turned to face the street, then scowled. It was that patriotic winged brat from four months ago. The rude angel creature was the only other thing not frozen in place.

“Oh, it's you.” Lars huffed, unimpressed by the being's all American splendour.

“Look, I don't want to be here anymore than you do.” The mature teen complained, arms crossed. “But my boss wanted to talk with you about that _thing_. I have to apologize for being mean to that thing you call a boyfriend before we can go. If you want to go.”

“I did not hear a single apology in that train wreck you call a speech.” Lars retorted, unforgiving as ever.

The immature angel gritted his teeth, hating this as much as Lars. It was funny to see a supposed being of love so flummoxed. “I am sorry I called that... Matthew a monster.”

Lars smirked in cocky victory. “Ok. When are we going to... whoa.” As he spoke, reality changed instantly. He was in a grand medieval hall, decorated to the hilt. Elaborate tapestries detailed with silver thread flanked impressive stained glass windows. The stained glass itself moved, depicting scenes out of people's lives. 

Lars himself was in a chain mail shirt, wolf skin cloak cast over one shoulder. On his left hip, a sword was in it's leather and wood scabbard. He had a mighty beard out of no where, yet he'd always had one.

“It's always interesting to see what a soul chooses to be, given all it's reincarnations.” A strange voice greeted, lyrical in its smooth cadence. A brunet dressed to the bleeding edge of fashion let himself into the mighty castle room. He was glittering with life and pretension. His four piece suit was the blackness of space, sprinkled with glittering stars. “I'm god as you know it, It's been a pleasure to review your file.”

“God. Like... The big boss from the bible... like... god?” Lars sputtered, jaw dropping words like a fool.

“That would be limiting. I'm technically in charge of this arm of the galaxy, but... Yes. I am your creator. You can grovel anytime.” The omnipresent being was rather vain. Everything right down to his beauty mark was unnervingly gorgeous, yet... Lars in his scant pride, chose to bow deeply instead.

A little put out by lack of performance, the representative of creation sighed dramatically and lit a stylish cigarette. “Well. I do have a reason for taking up your millionth of a second. Let's get to business.”

Lars mutely waited with clasped chain mail mittens. He was certain he would be smote if he was more rude.

“You... you are a rather interesting little bug. No matter the body you're always up to something fun. This last endeavour... You've really outdone yourself.” God went on, strolling to the newest stain glass window. Lars looked at the glass and lead image. It was a nuclear blast over an unknown ocean, perfectly captured in medieval style.

“I don't understand.” Lars admitted, more confused than ever.

“It's not your place to know. Humans are supposed to be fireflies for a deity in my position...” God shook his head and chuckled before going on. “First you tricked the demon sent to kill you into working for me. You taught it love and duty. After all this, you made a demon channel all the suicidal thoughts of the state of Illinois. The demon then converted all that death into enough energy to simulate a hydrogen bomb. Just guess where the explosion went!”

Feeling lost, Lars shrugged. None of this felt real at all, like a grand dream.

“The pacific garbage patch on Earth. You second hand decimated 20,000 tonnes of garbage from the ocean. That's just incredible! Sometimes I still get surprised by my own creations, and... it's lovely feeling. You have earned a treat, for being a good little firefly.”

“I... what?” Lars asked, alarmed. The other guy was clearly in love with the sound of his own voice, not needing additional input.

“So... don't think about any of this too hard. Enjoy the twenty seven years you have left.”

“What, twenty seven years? How can I have –” Lars plunged into darkness mid-protest. He registered being cold, and very wet. Everything hurt, like he was punched in the chest. Big wet flakes of snow landed on his face, melting and dribbling into his hair. It took a long time to open his eyes, everything smarting.

It was still mid day. Lars was in the park, laying in melted snow. He could only recall hugging Matthew, and seeing the angel's problematic skin attempting to crawl away. Mid encouragement, The unstable spark Matthew had produced exploded. There was a brief frenzy of movement and colour after, but it was too fast to remember.

Ah, Lars was knocked unconscious from the training exercise. Great, now he felt like an ass for pushing his unconventional lover too hard. Sitting up with a grunt of discomfort, he took in the damage. The grey dappled creature literally evaporated the ground he was standing on, now laying in a perfect bowl of scorching earth. Anything outside of the crater was melted mud and blackened grass for several metres. Lars's own jacket was fried in the front, coat stuffing still smouldering.

Matthew wasn't moving. He was covered in sulphurous black ashes, a foetal lump in the wreckage. Rolling once in the mud to put out his own coat, he crawled back onto his feet. “Mattie, you gotta talk to me!” Lars called out, scared for the other. Dragging Matthew's light body out of the slowly filling crater, the ashes broke off Matthew like a thin crust. Something beneath gleamed white.

The angel had never been this shade of white, aside from that mysterious rash. With care, more blackened chunks were broken off. Finally, Matthew's limp lightweight body flopped and cracked the rest off in large chunks.

A groggy Matthew sat up and freed his feathery body of the debris. “That hurt. Maybe I shouldn't do that again.” He groaned.

Relieved, Lars hugged Matthew tightly. “I thought you were injured , or... I'm just glad you're okay.” He admitted.

“I feel weird. Did some of my eyes move?” Matthew asked, gaining enough strength to stand. Lars stood with him, offering a hand to balance. Before, the angel had been slightly asymmetrical no matter what view or angle. It was a unearthly aberrant design Lars attributed to Matthew's origins.

Now Matthew was pleasing symmetrical and divinely fluffy looking. Despite the muck he just crawled out of, the creature of goodness was a warm shade of white. Those long vicious talons Lars had become accustomed to were now reasonable, but still sharp enough.

“I don't know what happened, but your body is different. Well, more different.” Lars replied, glancing around for the sneaky escaping skin. One arm sleeve escaped the chaos somehow, half charred and inching away into deep snow. Lars snatched it up. “Gotcha, you sneaky bastard.”

“Thank you.” Matthew crooned, accepting it as it was handed to him. The formerly faithful disguise screeched in a thousand tiny voices like scraping nails. It then engulfed in purple flames and and reduced to ashes. Dusting his feathered palms clean of black mess, Matthew hummed “Well, that's never happened before.”

Flying home in Matthew's arms was the most romantic yet terrifying experience of Lars's life. Flying across the city at speeds comparable small aircraft was something he never wanted to do again. Hair and wits frazzled, Lars held on fearfully. Matthew pried open an apartment window from outside with one dexterous foot, perched impossibly with the other. All the while, Four arms held and comforted Lars.

It was kinky and fun when all the limbs were involved, but being helpless fourteen floors up was not ideal. Matthew was a lovely but strange creature, folding in body parts like divine origami as he slithered his form into the window. Finally, the strong body unfolded once more. Grand wings unfurled and stretched.

“That was fun, flying together!”

Lars just lay crippled on the living room floor in fear, recovering in gasps. “No more.” he whimpered.

Sweetly happy, Mathew began to preen and cuddle with his feathery tail. “Your training idea worked! I'm not itchy at all anymore. Look, I'm finished moulting too. I'm so sparkly and clean.”

The taller man let out a long exasperated breath, grateful to be on level floor. This was just another experience he would cope with, unexpectedly enriching his life.


	8. Only The Good Die Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following me on this journey!

Matthew washed the dishes slowly and methodically. Lars was a half room over, laughing at some comedy show. It was rare to hear the centre of Matthew's life so noisy with life and joy. It was hard to believe the feathery creature had been assigned to such a kind hunk.

There was other things that were just as questionable. A faithful man, Lars insisted Matthew was an angel. The unearthly being struggled to share this belief. Able to see through all of reality and pluck thoughts like cherries, Matthew still didn't detect this particular truth.

Matthew saw the lusting obsession of stalkers and rapists. He saw distrust of victims, all in a slurry of miserable survival. None of this was different or surprising. Matthew could recall crawling out of such materials in birth, treating it as comfort goods. The real mess was his own insides. It was a compressed crash of animal parts and ill intentions that made this mortal plane look saintly.

If angels were supposed to have bloody worm infested insides, That other angel from the camp site had hid it really well. It was difficult to even look at the other being. There was lots of things Matthew couldn't touch before the park explosion. Holy texts swirled in his eyes, burning from his existence. Murderous intentions of bystanders often caused spontaneous fires.

That was normal though. If part of being an angel was destruction, death was _good_. Ever since that ill fated training they tried in the park, Matthew was sick. He had to be. The interesting part of Lars had been the loving void underneath all that bone, skin, and gore. Other people had snakes and insects of negativity riddling their spiritual bodies. 

Lars had a lot of positive... nothing. Whatever was there was, it was very loving nothing. The emotion felt... warm, in it's undetectable safety. Interacting with it made Matthew unbearable itchy and hot, but it was worth it. Months into the uncertain gamble of moving in, Matthew was infected with the persistent nothing. It riddled his stolen dog heart, mottled his thick black blood, stained his insides white.

It was the worst itch, the greatest punishment the supposed 'angel' ever suffered. Prior to the training accident, Matthew was descending into rash based agony. Yet, he behaved and remained silent. Lars was not blind to the situation, devising increasingly convoluted means of curing this disease. 

The training worked somehow. Matthew was unnaturally symmetrical now, not loving that his senses and multiple eyes moved. He was shiny and white, never itchy in the slightest. It was hardly a winning situation, since Matthew was sick almost everyday. He went to work regardless, not bothering to wear a disguise. People didn't want to see his true form, so they didn't. They chose to see a humble clumsy office worker, so they did. It was an elegant solution.

In the middle of cleaning a dirty cup, a familiar feeling crawled and lurched up his body. Oh no, not now, not now, please not... it was too late. Matthew dropped the cup in soapy water, twisting his body away to vomit violently. Lars heard the ruckus, calling out “Mattie?”

After a mass ejection of debris from his stomach mouth, Matthew lay to the wayside and panted for breath in his newly grown lungs. Black blood festered with maggots and spiders burned purple as it screamed. It was a tiny sound only Matthew could hear, making him question what blood was supposed to be.

“Babe, babe tell me what to do. I want to help.” Lars whispered, edging around the flaming puddle of chunky blood.

“I'm cramping up bad Lars. I don't think I'm gonna make it.” Matthew groaned, with little warning. Another wet splat of rejected material fell out of him. It was a half digested arm, belonging to Douglas the unfortunate homeless man of months past.

“I'm sorry. I thought I chewed that better.” Matthew whimpered, feeling sufficiently empty. Lars paled and backed up a little, then swallowed and stepped around the gore. Most of the grisly display was ashes now, but bones from the human arm remained on the floor.

In careful perfect writing, Lars added to the list on the fridge. It was the 'things to talk about later' list. 'Cursing dead languages in public', 'Eating birds at the park', and 'Talking about rotting corpses during sex' was already on the list. 'Puking human body parts' was added, before Lars turned to Matthew. It seemed he was ignoring this incident for now.

“I know you didn't murder the owner of that arm... So Let's get you cleaned up.” Lars began sternly. Matthew stood and wiped off his torso, nodding in agreement. After a quick sweep and mop up of the kitchen, things resumed normality.

“Lars... I don't know if I'm angel.” Matthew admitted softly, curled up with Lars during a historical movie. This earned him a ruffling pet on the back.

“I _know_ you're an angel. You're white, fluffy, and want to do good.” Lars insisted, casting a loving look to the thing half draped over his lap. Matthew's body gave an anxious grating of sound, soothed by more back scratches. “Look at it this way. Has my apartment set on fire since the park thing?”

“No.” Matthew mumbled, letting all six wings flop and drape over them. His feathered tail arched and twitched occasionally.

“See? Angel. My angel.” At these words, Lars glowed with affection and obsession. It was nice vintage of emotion that let off mint green light at higher aura levels. Matthew personally found the feeling to have a pleasant sweet flavour, chased by lime.

“I'm going to try being the angel you think I am.” Matthew promised. He then playfully snatched the TV remote away with a flash of talons. He was flicking through channels at rapid pace as Lars was bound and hugged by the other three arms.

“... and the mystery of the explosion over the pacific garbage patch remains unsolved. Scientists are...”

_Click._

“... with Iran claiming to have launched a secret missile that destroyed 17,000 tons of garbage. Critics doubt this claim, since ...”

_Click._

“... suicide rates are at an all time low in Illinois. Senator Durbin claims new approaches to mental health are the cause. Medical sales representative to the state, George...”

_Click._

“... painting happy little trees. Remember, no tree is perfect. This little tree, see? It's going to be a peaceful shade of green. What shade of green do you think it should be?”

“I am not watching Bob Ross re-runs again. You don't even paint when you watch them.” Lars complained.

“I like his voice!” Matthew argued, wrestling with Lars for control of the remote. He was only losing due to being tickled. Three sure knocks at the front door interrupted the moment. Matthew was only half Lars's weight despite being twice his size. The supposed angel was almost all feathers with a long wiry body.

Pushing Matthew off him easily, Lars dashed to the door. He opened it, then screamed. A serpent with blades for skin was before him. It launched with sudden violence, wrapping and constricting around Lars's fragile form. It cut him up like soft cheese, blood and ripped flesh gushing between tight metallic coils.

An unholy shriek that shattered glass came from Matthew's form. All his limbs, his talons, they shredded the poorly constructed monster to bits. It was too late. In the black blooded massacre, the human's body was mangled. Lars must have died from the first few seconds of crushing constriction.

Only the faint bio-electric outline of his soul was left. It was slowly being tugged down by wispy tendrils of darkness. Matthew severed the strings, clutching the energy signature of Lars to his chest. The spiritual remnant had little form, a condense ball of mint green light in caring talons.

“Mattie? What happened?” The entity once known as as Lars asked. Like all violent death victims, he had been cut down too fast to form a good impression of the accident.

“You're safe baby. You're safe... I'm gonna find you a nice safe place.” Matthew rambled anxiously, kicking gore off his clawed feet. The razor serpent was already pulling itself back together like a disgusting puzzle. In addition, insects of suicidal intent crawled from every dark corner.

“You can't stop all of us.” The evil forces whispered in united broken tones.

Holding the soul of Lars tightly, Matthew smashed through a window and fled.

00000

Matthew had been flying for hours at super sonic speeds. He was now somewhere in New Mexico, exhausted and over heated. His physical body was inhumanly durable, but it still needed a glass of water a day and some food. Lars's soul was safe, taking up residence inside Matthew as it slept. It was a nice feeling, since Matthew didn't have a soul of his own. His own spiritual body was a drunk blender mix of tormented animal souls, ambient anxiety, and all of Lars's love.

Panting in the burning desert sun, he perched on a red rock cliff. Matthew knew he was in trouble. There was not a single inch of the USA he could find at this point that wasn't demon tainted. Every object he touched seemed to be dimmed by negativity. That wouldn't do at all.

“Hola Amigo!” a cheery voice greeted. Matthew startled, his feathers fluffing up. He hadn't expected anyone this far into the desert. He looked to his side. It was a deeply tanned man in a T-shirt and shorts, a chilled beer in his hands. “You are looking thirsty Mr. Feather monster.” the odd stranger went on.

“Who are you?” Matthew asked curiously.

“I'm the angel of death for this area.” The stranger replied casually, sipping his cold refreshing beer.

“Oh.” Matthew mumbled, feeling rather feverish.

“Aren't you thirsty? Come rest in the shade.” The kind stranger offered. In one blink, there was now three colourful lawn chairs in the desert. Two large umbrellas offered the seats idyllic shade. A cooler with chilled beverages was centred in this perfect arrangement.

One blink later, Matthew was in colourful vacation clothes. He was very human looking once more. Lars stood beside him, equally confused and hilariously dressed.

“Why am I not at home?” Lars spoke out loud, twining his fingers into Matthew's. Neither one was uncomfortable anymore, feeling light and freed of most physics.

“You can call me Carlos. I can explain everything.” The man replied, lounging in a chair himself. Exchanging glances, Matthew and Lars sat and grabbed two cans of diet Pepsi. They were wonderfully thirst quenching.

Carlos offered a peaceful smile under the rim of his straw hat. “You see... Mr. Van Den Berg here has been dead twelve hours. Matthew will be dead in... forty minutes from extreme heatstroke and organ rejection. At least, unless your death changes schedule. My job is to escort both of you to your appropriate afterlife.”

“I feel fine though, I'm...” Matthew glanced at his true body, which was metres away. It had collapsed from heatstroke near the edges of the red rock cliffs, black blood leaking slowly out faulty seams. When he started dissociating from his dying body, he was unsure. “... now I'm confused.”

“We have... thirty nine minutes to discuss death options. Lots of time.” Carlos replied smoothly, oddly soothing.

“Do I go to heaven?” Lars asked, helping himself to an mini quiche appetizer. They had appeared magically like everything else so far. They were also divinely delicious. Matthew ate several, happy to consume.

“Yes. It's where I intend for you both to go, if you grant me permission.” Carlos was about to stand and offer a hand, when the earth rumbled. That same murdering serpent of razor blades from before emerged. Born of green fire from cracks in the earth, The rippling evil form swelled to the size of a man and burst. A typical English punk with burning green eyes emerged from the melting mess. Acrid chemicals steamed off his black leather coat.

“I think not!” The threatening thug declared. “That demon was created by _me_, and is carrying a soul that was intended for a colleague. That makes that rotting carcass and everything it holds property of Hell!” The obvious demon threatened, gesturing to Matthew's malfunctioning body.

“You lost the right to lawyer me when you fell! The soul in the body determines ownership. Lars is going to heaven, so Matthew's going too. That makes both of them ordained property of God!”

The angel and demon began to literally slap fight each other for several minutes. It was great entertainment. A great white crack of lightning struck the earth a few metres away. Everyone jumped and almost fell over, blinking spots out of their eyes. An adorable brown bunny hopped forth from the charred sand, it's voice overpowering the squabbling.

“**I am Miffy, a representative of Mother Nature. She owns this mortal realm. I will not tolerate conflicts of this childishness on her behalf.**”

“Miffy, your brutal majesty. I was, uh, just pointing how this... soul and a half is the property of God.” Carlos appealed to the more powerful being, bowing deeply. The demon just scoffed but said nothing. It was likely the most respectful he could act.

“**These souls are still property of the mortal plane. They will decide their fate, due to living a morally balanced lifestyle.**” The bunny declared in booming tones.

“That is complete bollocks, that piece of –” The demon's body was blown back violently by burning desert winds, smacking into a rock. It coughed up some blood, wheezing but silent.

“Miffy. May I pet you?” Lars asked quietly. The bunny hopped over onto his lap, clearly not afraid.

“**Yes, you may pet me. I require many gentle ear scratches while I await your decision.**” the adorable nature spirit declared. It was surreal to have dead Lars petting a bunny with super powers. Matthew offered it a celestial mini quiche. The bunny accepted it, munching cutely.

“**This tiny pie is delicious. I would like another. You also have eighteen minutes left to decide your fate.**”

Lars gave gentle bunny ear scratches, looking to Matthew. They shared a smile of love, of secret understanding. How absurd these last six months had been was almost indescribable. Lars should of known things would end violently. “Here I thought I had more years.” He mused openly.

“You were supposed to have twenty seven more. Heaven doesn't account life lines for the possibility of murder. It's a statistical risk angels have to accept. You were a gravely unlucky man, amigo.” Carlos added.

“I don't mind what state I'm in, as long as I'm with you.” Matthew confessed softly, ignoring his dying physical body as it twitched metres away.

“Well, that settles it. Let's go see heaven Mattie. I've heard it's a nice place.” Lars replied, holding his lover's hand.

“**It is decided. This court trial is concluded.**” Miffy spoke loudly once more, voice crackling with power. There was an intense bloom of light, blinding the disguised Prince of Lies. It took several minutes for light blindness to fade. It was already too late. The demon lord was alone in the desert, only a dead corpse of Matthew left behind. The souls, angel, and stupid bunny were long gone.

Arthur fell to his knees, gripping the hot sand in his fingers. He cursed in a hundred languages, flinging sand in rage and frustration. This was his last chance to stop the first redemption of a demon. He blew it, totally doomed forever. The Devil was going to hear about this parade of failure and she was going to rip his dragon heads off. Finally, he gave a long sigh of gasses and ran a clawed hand through his lime green striped hair. It was time to face the painful music.

It was time to descent to Hell one last time.


End file.
